


You

by MarsCosta



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Cancer, Coping, Coping mechanism, Depression, Drama, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, hospital au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-09-23 14:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsCosta/pseuds/MarsCosta
Summary: “There’s something sweet about knowing you’re going to die.”Some say life brings people together. However, it’s the fortuity of Death and an empty and dark rooftop that brings Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones together. She’s someone he wasn’t expecting, and he’s just what she never knew she needed. But when it comes to matters of life and death, nothing is ever that simple. Especially not love.





	1. a spark in the darkness

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Please, before you go on, check the tags above, they're there for a reason. So, if any of those trigger you in some way, I'd suggest reading something else. 
> 
> With that out of the way: Hi, everyone! Welcome to my new story. I've been waiting to share this with you for a while, but University drove me insane. Anyways, I hope you like it! 
> 
> Huge thanks to @squids for betaing this for me - thanks, darling! <3

* * *

 

Sitting alone in the white, sterile and impersonal hospital room, hearing the IV dripping-- since she had given up on television over an hour ago--is driving Betty Cooper crazy.

Well, she supposes to most she's already crazy…or worse,  _ considering _ , but she can't bring herself to care. The past ten and a half hours have been utterly exhausting, leaving her tired and just... numb.    
  
Out of annoyance and boredom, she removes the IV from her arm, the pain meds not allowing her to feel the uncomfortable but pleasant pinch of the needle leaving her skin. After putting on the hideous pink cardigan her mother had brought her earlier over her grey t-shirt and matching sweatpants, Betty slips out of the room as quietly as possible in order to not get busted by one of the nurses. It takes her just a moment to find her way in the maze of corridors and staircases to the rooftop. As she pushes the heavy metal door open, the night air hits her, and even though it chills her to her bones, she takes a deep and large breath, and somehow it manages to fend off some of the numbness she has been feeling since waking up.    
  
Standing in front of the handrail, she leans into it as much as possible, bending over it, and stretching her hands as she watches the moving lights below. Her mind drifts to the people walking the streets at that same moment, and it makes her think about life and death and the meaning of it all. And remembering the past week, she realizes what it was that brought a small resemblance of meaning to her useless existence.   
  
"There is something sweet about knowing you're going to die..." She whispers aloud to the wind and to herself, the realization growing inside her chest, almost warming her up.    
  
"Care to enlighten me?" The sudden voice startles her and Betty nearly jumps a whole foot in the air, having to grab the handrail for support.   
  
_ "Jesus Christ!" _ with a hand over her heart, she breathes in and out, trying to calm down. "Have you been there the whole time?!" She manages to ask while looking at where he's sitting and realizing why she didn't notice him until he spoke; it's a peculiar spot, where three shadows overlap each other. Someone sitting behind the corner of the column would easily go unnoticed to the more distracted, and she's sure that's his intention--to be glossed over.   
  
She can see his shoulders moving in a shrug.   
  
"I'd rather not impose my deadly addiction on the many vulnerable people inside this building." He moves a little so that Betty can see the amber glow of a cigarette, shining in the dark. "Besides, smoking inside a hospital is a misdemeanor punishable by a fine of at least $250." 

She watches as he takes the cigarette to his mouth again, hypnotized by the white gray smoke making its way in the air. "So do you mind explaining what you said just now? What can  _ possibly _ be  _ sweet _ about knowing you're going to die?" 

Betty doesn't miss the way he emphasizes the words. And it's funny because all day people have tried to talk to her and she was just tired, not bothering to try and make small talk with them, but for some reason, she feels compelled to talk to this stranger, to answer him.   
  
"Everyone will die." She begins with a raspy voice from lack of use and ice chips. "And everyone knows it. We are born knowing we are going to die. However, we never  _ know _ . Not really. Just a few know or are able to have an idea of when or... or how that will happen. It’s an uncertain certainty. And I just... I think that once you have the idea of  _ when _ you can finally find a meaning to your life. It’s when one understands the value of each and everything. Things start to make sense." 

The last week had been some of the most meaningful days of her existence. She had known her final day was coming, and everything had suddenly seemed so important, and the time she had taken to fulfill her  _ Things to do before dying  _ list had made everything else--the unbearable sadness inside her, the pressure, the weight of being such a disappointment to her family, the years of pent-up anxiety and the frustration of never being perfect enough--it all became background noise. So  _ yes _ , there was something sweet about knowing she was going to die.    
  
Betty had no idea what to do with herself now that she had failed. Any meaning was now lost on being stuck here and she felt as if she was getting swallowed by how overwhelming still being alive was.    
  
He moved from the shadows, stepping over the butt to put it off. As the light hit him, the first thing she notices was how clear his eyes were, a perfect contrast to his dark curls.    
  
"I beg to disagree, but it's not polite to argue before introductions are made. My name's Jughead." 

The second thing she noticed was how he winced upon offering her his hand in a compliment, his left hand moving just below his right shoulder, on the top of his chest, wincing again, and then she saw a bump beneath his beige t-shirt. He caught her looking. 

"What a pesky little thing," clearing his throat, he stares at her. "So... do you have a name?" The change in the subject is clear, and she doesn't ask what that pesky little thing is. "At least that's how introductions work. I told you my name, it's your turn. What’s your name?" He said with his hand still raised. 

She was about to take his hand on hers, when a thin white line, just where her cardigan ended and her skin showed, stopped her.    
  
Looking at his face, Betty knew he had seen it too. The bandages. Jughead looked down for a second and she could tell he was checking her other arm for the same thing. Feeling self-conscious, she hid her hands behind her back.   
  
"I always believed the Universe had a sense of humor, but up until now, I never knew it was a sarcastic and dark type of humor. There's a quote... _ Of all the gin joints in the world, _ right?" He shook his head, thinking to himself, before continuing. "Why did you come here? Or better,  _ how _ are you here? You shouldn't be up here at all. Not without supervision." 

She knew what he wasn't saying and for a second it annoyed her deeply. Did he honestly think she’d come here to jump? It was a dumb assumption and his bluntness had been just… _rude_.  
  
"It's none of your business... you... you _ass_." He lets out a gruff half laugh, but something tells her he isn’t laughing at her attempt of an insult.   
  
"I should go get the nurses." 

In her head, Betty sees what would happen if he did that. The nurses would come, armed maybe with one of the auxiliaries and with needles filled with sedatives, that would stop her from leaving the room again. They would probably call her mother because no one would believe her if she told them she had just come here for a breath of fresh air.   
  
"Don't. I just wanted some fresh air.  _ Please _ . That's all. I swear. They won't understand and... I can't. I can't go back to that room. I hate it and it's driving me crazy." Her words make him understand that they have something in common.   
  
"I'm familiar with the crazy. And the hate." His expression softens just a little at those words. "Which is the only reason why I'm not calling the nurses." He stares at her for a whole minute in silence. A minute that feels like forever.   
  
"What?" She finally asks, feeling hot under his gaze, and for an instant, she could swear he was reading her soul.    
  
"You're not at all what I imagined." His words are not something she expected.

"I don't understand."   
  
"I've been coming here almost every night for the better part of the last month. No one ever came here, but I have been imagining what it would be like if someone did. Which is probably a result of too many books read, and all the movies I saw..." He trails off.   
  
"You've been here for a whole month?" He only shrugs. "Why? Why are you here?" She asks quietly, understanding his shrug as a yes.   
  
"Does it matter?" Betty thinks for a moment.  _ Yes _ . It does matter.   
  
"Well, you already know why I'm here." She tries in a softer voice, hoping she sounds... normal. "It seems only fair that I know why you are here."   
  
There's silence for a minute or so, he sighs and then speaks again.   
  
"I'm here for my latest rounds of chemo."  _ Cancer _ .  _ Shit _ . For a second her mouth gets dry, and she doesn't know what to say. "Please don't say anything.” He asks in a quiet voice that has a hint, just a hint, of something that sounds awfully like... pleading. “Whatever it is, I'm sure I already heard it somewhere over the past two years."    
  
For a second, Betty does as he says, not saying anything, but then her mind replays his words, and she sighs.    
  
"Sorry to disappoint you." She pauses. A part of her wanted to stay and enjoy the fresh air for another moment or so, but another part of her knows better than to... impose on him. She has already said too much, he doesn't want her to say anything anyway and besides, it’s clear that her mere presence is a bother to him. "I'll just go." She says lowering her head and turning around.    
  
"You don't have to go," he says when she already has her hand on the door.    
  
"And you don't have to play nice. It's clear that you don't want me here."    
  
"Didn't you hear what I just said? I've been waiting for someone to come up here. And yes, you're not what I expected, but life's not what any of us expects, is it?"    
  
_ Life's not what any of us expects. _ Betty repeats the sentence to herself, unable to tell why they resonated so deeply inside of her.    
  
"No. It isn't." At her whispered reply, he snorts.   
  
"You’re damn right it isn't. I mean, just like I never expected to have cancer, I'm sure you never expected to do...  _ that _ ." Once again, his words annoyed her.    
  
"You know nothing about me." She replies sharply, somehow ready for a confrontation.    
  
"I'd like to."    
  
"What?"    
  
"I'd like to… know something about you." When she doesn't speak, he continues. "Anything. You could sit here and we could... I don't know just…  _ talk? _ "    
  
Going against her better judgment, and ignoring the dark voice in her head, Betty finds herself sitting on the cold concrete floor, a couple of feet between them.    
  
They were quiet for a few minutes before she finds the courage to do what he had said, picking her brain for something, anything that she can say.  _ Talking. It’s just talking. _

"I…I like vanilla milkshakes."    
  
The words popped out of her mouth before she realized.    
  
Jughead laughs and the sound seems to warm her bones.   
  
"I'm more of a double chocolate guy, but I can respect vanilla. Actually, I'd kill for any milkshakes right now. No matter the flavor." She doesn't dare ask why he couldn't have a milkshake. It seems like a too invasive kind of question. "When was the last time you had a milkshake?" His question sends a chill up her arms.    
  
"Last week. I had one milkshake every day last week." Like her, he doesn't ask why she had had a milkshake every day last week.    
  
"My turn. So… let’s go with my favorite food. Hamburgers. You know, those side road diner hamburgers with everything on ‘em? Everything  _ double _ and  _ royal _ and  _ special _ or whatever they call it? That's what I like. That's my favorite food." He pauses and she can tell his mouth has watered just by mentioning it. "What about you?"   
  
That's how it starts. It's unexpected and random. 

 

That first night, they only talk about food. From their love for coffee to other favorites, to the things they would never eat, not even in a million of years, to how shitty the hospital food is.    
  
"It's hospital food, it's supposed to be bad." Betty argues, but Jughead won't have it.    
  
"Yes, but this is worse. Worse than the usual bad hospital food. I swear, it's like a tactic. People will get better faster if we make them want to leave."    
  
Betty laughs at his dark humor, forgetting that she hasn't laughed like this in months. 

As she's about to head back to her room, it's late, really late, he calls her. 

“Hey! I never got your name.” Right, she thinks. When he had asked the second time, he had seen the bandages on her wrists. 

“Betty. My name's Betty.”

  
  
From there on, although they never say anything about meeting again, Betty finds herself counting the minutes until nighttime when she can go back to the rooftop.   
  
The second night on the rooftop, they talk about books. She learns of his love for Truman Capote and after the way she talks about her favorite book, once back in his room, Jughead finds himself ordering  _ Beloved _ by Toni Morrison.    
  
During the day, the clock on the wall no longer drives her crazy. It has, somehow, become a relief, a steady promise that keeps her going through the heavy silence of her mother and the awkward attempt at conversations coming from her father.   
  
The third night, they talk about music. Whereas Jughead's love for indie rock, grunge, and rock in general, is well established, Betty realizes she doesn't really know what kind of music she likes. She spends the following day thinking about that and it proves to be a very welcomed distraction during a visit from some crazy counselor named Edgar Evernever, who according to her mother, was supposed to help her.    
  
On the fourth night, they talk about traveling.    
  
"If you could go anywhere in the world... where would you go?" Jughead asks her that as soon as she sets foot outside.    
  
Betty walks up to him, sitting beside him on the ground, their backs against a wall, overlooking the city that was shining in the dark of the night.    
  
"I don't know." He turns to stare at her, eyes wide.    
  
"You don't know?" She shrugs.   
  
"I just never thought about it." She sounds defensive and he adds an explanation.   
  
"I was just wondering. You never wanted to just...run away? To be anywhere but where you are?"   
  
Instead of answering, Betty replies with a question. "Where would  _ you _ go?"   
  
"I'd start with New York, the city that never sleeps. Then Rome, the eternal city. And Paris, the city of lights. And finally, I'd like to go to London, just because of the rain. I love the rain." The way he spoke made her smile, as it always did.   
  
"Sounds like quite the plan."    
  
Jughead is quiet for a moment, lightening up a cigarette, the first of the night.   
  
"Well, I do have plenty of time to daydream and make plans." She watches as he takes another drag, not elaborating.    
  
"I would like to go to New York, too." Betty pauses, a dream she had long forgotten about making its way to the forefront of her mind. "When I was a kid...I wanted to be a journalist and write for one of the big newspapers. Like The Times or… or The Post."    
  
"Don't you want that anymore?" Betty sighs, leaning her head back against the wall.   
  
"I haven't wanted anything in a long time." 

More silence follows, but unlike the silence that’s around her pretty much all day, the silence with Jughead isn't uncomfortable. It feels nice and warm, and a small voice in her head says that being here, sitting with him, who is still pretty much a stranger, was the first time in months where she doesn't feel alone. Because before him, even though she was with her friends and her family, she couldn't help but feel hopelessly alone and lost.

“Can I ask you something?” She looks at him, nodding silently. “How did you…” When he takes a deep breath, Betty fears his question for a second. Of course, she can always not answer, but there's nothing stopping him from asking, and she knows how loud silence can speak. “How did you get ready for…” Jughead looks down at where her hands rest on her lap. _“Letting_ _go?”_

She half feels the need to applaud him for the euphemism, but the urge to hide her hands behind her back is stronger and it wins. With him, she doesn't feel the need to expose her wounds, as she does with her family. 

“You mean for  _ killing myself _ ?” Her tone is acid, already knowing where the conversation is going, and a small voice in her mind lets her know it was just a matter of time until he too, wanted to talk about what she had done, efficiently spoiling whatever that had been happening in this rooftop for the past four nights. 

“I'm not judging you, Betty.” He asserts vehemently. “I don't know your life, I don't know the reasons that led you to do that. It's not my right to judge you.” He pauses, looking at her, but her face is blank, not telling him anything and Jughead continues. “When we first talked…you said there was something sweet about knowing you're going to die. I remember you said it helped you find a meaning and that things finally started to make sense. I…I have known for a while, but... I haven't found that meaning. Nothing makes sense.” 

“What are you saying?” Betty questions, unable to look at his face.

“I…have known for a while that I'm getting close to...my… _ expiration date _ . But the closer I get, the more I want to live! And I don't know how to say goodbye, Betty, and I need to learn how to let go, because maybe if my parents see me letting go, if they see me accepting it, maybe they'll let go and accept it, too.” 

Years of practice in holding back tears are the only thing that stops her from crying in front of him. Even so, she thanks heaven for the fact that he has lowered his head to his knees, and can't see her face. 

Without thinking, Betty puts a hand over his shoulder. He doesn't move or say anything.

“I…I need you to teach me how to let go.” Jughead finally continues. “How…how to get ready to…say goodbye.” He raises his head. “Like you did, before doing this.” Betty feels his touch, light as a feather on the back of her hand, and she can't help but tense up, and he removes his finger, without a word. 

When he speaks again, his voice is barely a whisper. 

“I'm tired, Betty. I don't know if it makes sense or not…but at the same time that I want to live, at the same time that I want to have my life back, I also just feel so tired. I'm tired of the doctors, I'm tired of the chemicals running in my bloodstream, making me feel worse than I already feel…I'm tired of seeing my parents argue and my sister disappearing into herself… my family is in pain because of me. I wish I could keep fighting, but I can't keep dragging anyone down with me. I won’t do it.” Jughead looks at her, and the tears forming in his clear eyes--that are either green or blue, so far she hasn't been able to say--break her heart. “I just want to be ready for when the doctors finally say what I've already known for a while.” 

Until now, all she knew was that he had cancer and was here for his latest chemo rounds. But his words now leave no room for questions or misunderstanding, and upon hearing and seeing his despair, the way he spoke about being tired, Betty couldn't find it in her to refuse him. There was a world between their situations, their lives so different, and even if a voice in her head says she shouldn't, she was going to help him.

“Okay.” She finally replies. 

“Okay?” He seems surprised at her easy answer.

“Yeah. I will help you.”

The first thing Betty does is ask him to make a list. A list of the things he loves most, be it food, entertainment, sports, and even people. “Write down everything you think you will miss. Be it an object, a person, something to do, food… Anything. It doesn't matter what it is. Just write. We'll go from there.”

 

Back in her room, she thinks about her conversation with Jughead before falling asleep. In the morning, she tries to think about how could she help him go through his list, unsure of how much freedom he has to roam around and out of the hospital. 

When her mother arrives for the morning visit, she finds Betty already awake and writing something down. It's certainly a change because usually, she finds her daughter laying down, dispiritedly zapping through the awful daytime television, without saying anything. 

Alice Cooper knows she is not a perfect woman. That's why she always strived for perfection because she was always aware of her flaws. She always pushed her daughters to achieve perfection as well, because perfection was good, it was attractive, and because she never wanted them to grow up like she had, always feeling she wasn't enough, feeling she should be better. 

However, having her baby girl attempt suicide suddenly put everything into perspective. It changed everything. She realized how wrong she had been, how wrong she was. She understood how crazy and harmful and pointless her search for perfection had been. 

Alice could also see for the first time how distant she and her daughter were, and she had no idea what to do to fix it. For that reason, when Betty breaks the silence that was a constant in her visits, she is surprised.

“Uhm, mom?” Alice looks up from her notebook, eyes wide, heart beating a little faster.

“What is it, dear? Are you feeling okay?” 

“Uhm… Y-yeah. I was just…uhm I was wondering if you could bring me some pens when you come back this afternoon?” 

_ It's important if she shows interest. Being interested is a way in, and what you need right now is a way in.  _ Edgar’s words come to her mind, and Alice closes her laptop, turning her attention entirely to Betty. 

“What kind of pens do you want?” She diligently writes down everything her girl says. “Do you want anything else? A notepad? Maybe some markers?” 

Betty doesn't know how she feels about her mother's sudden availability, but she takes the opportunity since it's rare that her mother looks up from her notebook to try and talk to her. “A notepad would be nice.” 

“I'll go get them right now. I'll be back soon.” Alice smiles, hesitating a little beside her bed, and after pressing a hand over her covered leg, and smiling one last time, she leaves hurriedly.


	2. what a thought could set in motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm finally back with another chapter. Sorry for taking so damn long.
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and also for the nomination in the 4thBFFA! You guys are amazing! 
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to Cyd (@squids) for being such an awesome beta!

* * *

 

 

That night, Betty is the first to arrive at the rooftop. When Jughead opens the door, almost ten minutes later, she had already started to think he wasn't going to come.  
  
  
As he walks to their usual spot by the wall, she doesn't miss how slowly he's moving, and when he finally reaches her side, Betty sees the worn out look in his face, mixed with something else, and overall he doesn't look okay.  
  
  
“Jughead? Are you alright?” She asks watching him leaning his head back against the wall, eyes closed. After a moment, he nods.  
  
  
“I had a rough day,” he swallows, “because of the chemo,” he explains. “And... it sucks.” Another pause. “It really fucking sucks.” Jughead opens his eyes a second later. “Sorry about my language.”  
  
  
Betty gives him a small smile, shaking her head, while appreciating his concern, even when it's clear he has so much going on. “Don't worry. Do you want to sit down?” He shakes his head no.  
  
  
“I...I don't think I will be much of a company tonight. I just...came to give you my list.” Jughead takes a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and hands it to her. “I'm sorry I can't stay and talk.”  
  
  
Betty gets up, putting a hand over his arm, gently. “Oh, Juggie. Don't worry. Let's get you inside, so you can rest and be up for some actual talk tomorrow, okay?” She puts a hand around his waist, his left arm coming to rest on her shoulders due to their height difference.  
  
  
“I'm not made of glass, you know?” His voice is neutral and raspy, but Betty hears the faint teasing there.  
  
  
“I know.” She replies, pushing the metal door open. “Someone made of glass wouldn't have been able to come here tonight.”  
  
  
They walk down the stairs slowly. When they reach the final step, Jughead stops, a hand on the metal door to support himself, and he takes a deep breath, speaking again. “Could…could you maybe help me to my room? I…I don't think I can get there alone.” She realizes with those words, and taking in his tired face, that he must be feeling worse than he's letting on.  
  
  
“Lead the way, Juggie.” They walk through the corridors in silence, taking the longer way, because it’s the only way to avoid nurse stations and the guard rotation.  
  
  
“We're almost there,” he says when they pass a sign on the wall that reads Oncology Ward. The next time they stop is at the end of the long corridor with closed doors. Jughead uses his free hand to open the door as gently as possible.  
  
  
Just as they enter, a small and sleepy voice startles Betty. “Juggie?”  
  
A girl, who must be in her pre-teens is crumpled up in a big recliner by the bed. She's rubbing her eyes tiredly.  
  
  
Jughead disentangles himself from Betty, walking the few steps between the door and the girl. “I'm here, Bean. Go back to sleep.” His voice is stronger than a few seconds ago and more gentle than Betty had ever heard as he runs a hand over the girl's dark hair, and in minutes, she's sighs, again sound asleep. He pulls the blanket over her, before looking back to where Betty is, waiting by the door.  
  
  
“She looks like you,” she whispers with a small smile, looking at the girl.  
  
  
Jughead smiles back, watching his sister, and Betty can see something is troubling him, he seems to want to say something, and she wants to ask him, but she decides to leave any questions for the next night, because she doesn't want to push their luck too much and risk getting caught.  
  
  
“I'm gonna go.” He nods.  
  
  
“Thanks, Betts.” The nickname is not one she's ever heard.  
  
  
“Betts?”  
  
  
“I'm sorry.” He says with a shrug and Betty shakes her head.  
  
  
“Don't worry.” She heads to the door. “I like it. Goodnight, Juggie.”  
  
  
“Goodnight, Betts. I'll see you tomorrow.” His words warm her chest.  
  
  
“I'll see you tomorrow,” she replies, closing the door and walking back to her room.  
  
  
  
Alice watches as Betty writes, sitting on the armchair instead of the bed, focused on the notepad in front of her. Her daughter looks…better, but Alice wonders to herself if the looks are being deceitful once again. Betty seemed…well, she wasn’t exactly okay, before that terrible afternoon, but she didn’t look so bad either, and she wished that as a mother, she had paid more attention. Maybe if she had, they wouldn’t be here in the first place.  
  
  
“Do you like the pens?” Her mother’s sudden voice, startles her for a second. Looking at her, Betty sees something different in her usual straight business face.  
  
  
“They’re great, mom. Thank you.” Alice smiles openly, nodding. Perplexed, Betty doesn’t remember ever seeing her mother smile like that, she turns her attention to the paper in front of her. A minute later, she has an idea. “Mom? Can I ask you something?”  
  
  
  
He's already on the rooftop when she arrives.  
  
  
“Are you feeling better?” He nods, smiling and patting the floor next to him, wordlessly telling her to sit by his side.  
  
  
“Yeah. As I said, just a bad day. They come and go. You okay?” She only nods in return, unsure of how to answer.  
  
  
“So. I read your list. And I have a question,” when his eyes are on her, she continues. “Is there an specific reason to why you can't eat the food you wrote there?”  
  
  
Jughead sighs. “Well, that depends on what you consider as specific. My mother got some hippie homeopathic guy to give me a full diet that's supposed to help me get better. Which means I haven't had fast food since. Or coffee. Or anything less than healthy, because apparently most of the things we eat are all cancerous. I don't really believe that crap, but it makes my mother happy, so…” He shrugs again. “Why are you asking?” At that, Betty smiles.  
  
  
“I come bearing gifts. But I didn't want to risk telling you that if you couldn't actually eat them.” She decides that homeopathy is something that can be ignored without causing a real problem. She fumbles in her pocket, offering him a Milky Way bar and a package of Skittles.  
  
  
“Jesus Christ, Skittles and Milky Way?” He sounds like a kid on Christmas morning, smiling with his eyes sparkling as he reaches for her hand. “I swear to God, Betty. You might've just become my favorite person ever.” Jughead says, and he's distracted with opening the chocolate first, so he doesn't note how her expression changes at his words.  
  
  
After a moment, she finds her words again. “Wait. Take it easy. Don't eat it all at once.” He makes a face, but stops midway. “Take one bite at the time. Feel the taste. Slowly. And tell me what you feel.” When he stares at her, Betty shakes her head. “Trust me. Just do it.” She watches as he chews and swallows. “What are you thinking about?”  
  
  
“When I eat Milky Way, I feel like I'm seven years old again. My dad used to bring them to me every night for a while. Until my mom got in his head about it not being healthy and he started bringing it only once a week. It was like…our moment, you know? Just the two of us, watching the small tv he had inside the garage and eating a chocolate bar.” Betty can see his eyes shining at the memory and after a instant, she continues her line of thought.  
  
  
“That memory belongs to you, Jughead. Nothing can erase it. You need to hold on before you can let go. Does that make sense?” She pauses, thinking. “The thing about letting go…you need to embrace the good things in your life. Cherish them.” Betty stops again, mentally struggling with her next words, because they tell so much about her, about what she did, and she’s never spoken about it. Not until now.  
  
  
“When I was going to do this…” She looks to her wrists. “I focused on what made me happy. And I realized that I just didn't feel like that anymore. That I'd never be that happy again, for one reason or the other. That's how I let go. Because that happiness was so important, the good feelings I once felt, that I didn’t want to spoil it by living a life feeling so sad.”  
  
  
Jughead doesn't say anything for a while, but she can see he's thinking about her words. “So, would it be like an amicable break-up? When you care for the other person, but it's for the best if the two of you part ways, all the while taking the good memories along?”  
  
  
It's a good example, Betty guesses, but she wouldn't be sure of it, because she was never in a relationship for starters.  
  
  
“I guess you can say that.” She says as he takes another bite of the chocolate.  
  
  
“It makes sense.” He says with a mouth full and she laughs at how he sounds. “And…if it makes sense…can't be too hard to do right?”  
  
  
“Betts?” As he calls, she turns away from watching the streets to look at where he is sitting. Tonight is colder than the night before, and she's glad that her mother finally brought her a sweatshirt instead of another cardigan.  
  
  
“What?”  
  
  
“Why are you still here? In the hospital? I mean…you are…recovered already aren't you?”  
  
  
It's a change in their usual themes. They usually talk about him or about random stuff, never about her and for a moment she feels uncomfortable. Betty is not used to talking about herself or about her feelings. She always hated being on the spotlight.  
  
  
“You don't have to answer.” He adds, seeming to sense her discomfort.  
  
  
“No. Umm, it's okay. I…I'm still under observation. I have to undergo an evaluation…a psychological evaluation, before I'm given the all clear to leave.” Jughead looks down for a second.  
  
  
“When will that happen? The evaluation?”  
  
  
“Tomorrow. Probably the same time as today.” She tells him with a shrug. “It happened the first time four days ago, on my second day here. And every day since then.” Betty finds herself explaining. “But…I don't know. When the counselor or psychiatrist or whatever sits down to talk I just…I can't speak. I feel like my tongue is stuck in my mouth and then it seems like I can't breathe and…” She trails off, hiding her face between her hands, not wanting him to see her like that, losing control, but it's too late, she's spiralling, getting lost inside the rabbit hole that is her mind.  
  
  
“Betts? Betty, look at me.” She suddenly feels his hands on her shoulders. “Hey. _Betty?_ Betty look at me.”  
  
  
But she can’t hear him.  
  
  
There's an endless ringing sound in her ears, as the night seems to be closing in on her, the ground moving beneath her feet as the air seems to disappear from her lungs, and she can feel her eyes burning, but suddenly, something presses down hard just over her the middle of her collar bone. _A hand_ , she realizes.  
  
  
_“...Betty. Breathe.”_ The voice is familiar, and after a moment, her hand is being pressed down over something. The thud beneath her palm is the first steady thing in the middle of the anxious cacophony inside her mind.  
  
  
“Feel this?” The known voice says again. “Try and breathe with me, Betts. Slowly. In, out. In, out.” Focusing on the voice and on the steady thud in her palm, she tries to pull the air in. “That's it, Betts. Again. In, out. In, out.” A few breaths later, and the ground isn't moving anymore. “You're doing great, Betts. You're doing great.”  
  
  
Finally, she identifies to whom the voice belongs to. _It's Jughead_.  
  
  
With that, slowly, the chaos starts to subdue, her mind starting to clear up.  
  
  
Jughead feels when her breathing starts to become even. After yet another moment, she takes a deep breath.  
  
  
“Sorry…” She begins. “Sorry you had to see this.”  
  
  
“Betts. Can you look at me?” She still has one hand covering her face. “Please?” It takes over a minute for her to finally look up.  
  
  
When she does, he sees how red her eyes are, unshed tears still lingering. “Hi there.” He tries with a small smile. “You don't have to apologize. You did nothing wrong, Betty. It's okay.”  
  
  
“No. It's not. It's not okay. You just saw me in full crazy mode. I’m not…I try not to be this weak. You shouldn’t have seen me so…vulnerable.”  
  
  
“I just saw someone who's dealing with a lot. And Betty, breaking down doesn't make you weak. It means you're strong. Being vulnerable is a show of strength.”  
  
  
“My mother says differently.” Her voice is but a whisper, still shaky.  
  
  
“Your mother is wrong.” Jughead spits right back, his voice strong, vehement, and she looks at him for a second, surprised. “Listen to me, Betts. Your mother is wrong. Being vulnerable, showing your feelings, letting people in…that’s what makes someone strong. There’s nothing wrong with crying, with feeling tired or-or wanting to scream your lungs out.” He pauses, studying her face for a long moment, as if hoping to see understanding fill her pretty face, before speaking again.  
  
  
”Can I say something else?” Betty nods, even though unsure about it. “Talk to the counselor. Tell them everything. And…talk with your family. With your parents. Let them know how you feel. They love you. They will listen.” He takes a deep breath. “Look, I know first hand what is like to have a lot to say and to not have enough time. If you think about it, life doesn’t give us many chances or much time. So take this chance and the time on your hands and just tell them. Before it’s too late and the chance slips away.”  
  
  
His words bring tears to her eyes, and Betty has to breathe a couple of times before answering. She doesn’t even know why she wants to cry.  
  
  
“My parents won’t listen to me, Jughead. And please. I don’t want to talk about this.” He nods, not forcing her to continue.  
  
  
“What do you want to talk about? You don't... do you want to go back inside?” Jughead offers, while praying that she doesn’t. After she came along, the nights became the highlight of his days, and he hopes he hasn't ruined it by saying too much.  
  
  
“No. I…I want to stay. Uhm, we can talk about your list. Can we do that?”  
  
  
“Of course. What do you want to talk about?”  
  
  
Betty was always good with organization. She likes when things have an order and a point. So, it's easy to go over the three points she made regarding his list. The third point concerns having some outside help, and Jughead says he knows someone who can do it, and a minute later, he starts talking about his friends, Sweet Pea, Toni and Fangs, and how they've been the four musketeers every since kindergarten.  
  
  
For a moment, the subject reminds her of her own friends, and she wonders where it all went wrong and how can she ever look at them again after what she did. Does she even want to see them again? Right then, Betty again remembers that she has no idea of what to do now. Of what comes next. Jughead's words echo in her ears.  
  
  
_Talk to the counselor. Tell her everything. And… talk with your family. With your parents. Let them know how you feel. I know what is like to have a lot to say and to not have enough time._  
  
  
“Jug?” She questions while he's still speaking, but he stops and looks at her. “I don't know how to do it.”  
  
  
“How to do what, Betts?” His tone is gentle and full of concern, making her want to talk with him, without worrying about being judged or misunderstood.  
  
  
“You said I should talk with the counselor and…and with my parents, but…I don't know how to do it. Jesus, where do I even begin?! I don't know what to say!” Again, Jughead takes her hands between his, but this time, she fights to repress the urge to flinch at his touch.  
  
  
“Betty. It doesn't matter where you begin. All that matters is that you start. Just talk. Remember the first night here? I told you to just talk and you did just that and we are still here talking after a whole week. I won't lie and say it's going to be easy, because it won't, but you have to try.”  
  
  
For a moment, Betty gets lost in his kindness and in how she feels that he cares about her. “Why are you so good to me, Jughead? I'm a stranger. And I don't deserve it.”  
  
  
“What makes you think that you don't deserve this?” She takes a moment, breathing in and out before answering.  
  
  
“I'm not a good person, Jughead. Look at me. What I did…I'm…I'm broken. I'm damaged beyond repair.”  
  
  
There's a tear coming down her face, and he catches it with his fingertip. “You may be broken, but you're not unfixable, Betts. Okay? Sure, we may be strangers, but I have this feeling…and I'm sorry if it sound crazy but...I feel like I know you.” He pauses, looking into her eyes. “Does that make sense?” She nods, feeling the same way.  
  
  
“You can be okay again, Betty. You can want things and you can be happy. Even happier than you were before.” His last words make her heart almost stop for a fraction of second, and she doesn't acknowledge them, at least not out loud, replying his earlier question instead. _Does that make sense?_  
  
  
“It does, Juggie. It does.”  
  
  
  
  
“Good morning, Elizabeth.” Betty looks at the counselor.  
  
  
Jughead's words are ringing in her head, _It doesn't matter where you begin. All that matters is that you start._ As the doctor gets settled on the armchair, she tries to focus on how his hands had felt on hers the night before, and after taking a deep breath, she tells herself to just talk.  
  
  
Betty looks around the room, thinking, and then she notices that the counselor has a big yellow flower on her coat.  
  
  
“Nice flower,” she says quietly she doesn’t think the doctor heard, but she did.  
  
  
“Oh.” The surprise on the older woman's face is evident for a second, and Betty knows she probably was expecting another full hour of silence. “You like it?”  
  
  
“Uhum. I…I like yellow flowers.” The counselor smiles.  
  
  
“I like yellow flowers too, Elizabeth.”  
  
  
“Betty. Please, call me Betty.”  
  
  
  
  
Later that night, Jughead's on his second cigarette, his mind heavier and more troubled than the usual. He's lost on his thoughts when she arrives, like a ray of light coming into a dark room.  
  
  
“Juggie.” For her, he puts on his best face before turning to look at where she's standing.  
  
  
“Hey Betts.” He can see there's something different on her face. “How are you on this beautiful night?”  
  
  
“I'm…not bad. You?” She asks, sitting beside him.  
  
  
“Not bad either.” He lies.  
  
  
“I…I followed your advice. I talked with the counselor.” His smile is genuine this time.  
  
  
“You did? How did it go? I mean, if you don't want to talk about it…” Betty shakes her head.  
  
  
“No. I want to. It was…good, I guess? Dr. Glass is nice.”  
  
  
“Oh. I know Glass. She was my counselor when I first got admitted. She's a good person.” While he speaks Betty takes something from her pocket. Another Milky Way. Jughead smiles. “Jesus. You're spoiling me, Betts.”  
  
  
She smiles back, shrugging. “I'm sure my mother is wondering why all of a sudden I'm such a fan of candy bars, but so far she hasn't said anything.” Betty pauses, watching him eat, and she notices something in his eyes. “Are you okay, Jug? You seem…worried.”  
  
  
For an instant, he just stares at her, wondering how she noticed. Could it be that his poker face is having a bad day, or was it because she could actually read him?  
  
  
“It's my sister. Jelly and I were always tied to the hip, every since she was born. As you can imagine, this is…pretty much impossible. For the past month, she had been sleeping here with me, every other night, but now my doctor said it can't happen anymore.”  
  
  
“Why not?”  
  
  
“She's a fifth grader, and at her school she has close contact with the kids from elementary classes. And it’s like, younger kids are vehicles for bacteria and diseases. I'm on the waiting list for a transplant and the chemo sessions will gradually make my immune system weaker. That means I cannot, by any means, get sick. In a few weeks, even a cold could be bad for me. As you can imagine, she didn't take that well, and it got me thinking, you know? What will happen when I'm gone?”  
  
  
“I'm confused. What about the transplant you're waiting for?” In her mind, if he's on the waiting list, it means he still has a chance to live.  
  
  
Her question express genuine concern, and Jughead feels at ease to share something he hasn't told anyone yet. “It’s complicated. It's weird saying this out loud, but I don't know. I can't get my hopes up. I…I never told anyone about this but…I have this feeling inside of me. Almost like a premonition…that this will be it, for me.” He shakes his head.    
  
  
Betty remembers that some time ago, she heard someone, at this boring school lecture, speaking about friendship and how being a friend sometimes meant being quiet, because there were times when words weren't as important as just letting the person know you were there. There aren't words for her to say.  
  
  
What could she possibly tell him? Nothing. So, instead, even though it feels a bit weird to her, she puts her hand over his shoulder, pressing gently, the gesture saying what she doesn't say out loud. _I'm sorry I don't know what to say, but I'm here for you._  
  
  
They stay like that for a long time, side by side, in silence, watching the crescent moon, and the stars in the surprisingly clean night sky.  
  
  
  
  
In the morning, alone in her room, Betty decides to try something, when one of the nurses comes inside with her breakfast. “I…would it be possible for me to take a walk?”  
  
  
After walking around for a few minutes, she asks the nurse if they can go to the hospital's east wing. “I know someone who's in there.” She explains when the nurse asks her why she wants to go there.  
  
  
“Visitation hours are still an hour and a half away.” She's well aware of that fact. It's why she asked to come, because her mother isn't here yet which means Jughead probably is alone as well. For a second, Betty fears that she will be taken back to her room. However, they just keep walking.  
  
  
At crossing the _Oncology Ward_ sign, she can't help but smile. “Which room?” She doesn't remembers the number.  
  
  
“Uh, it's the last one. At the end of the corridor.”  
  
  
“Wait here for a second, honey.” The nurse says as they reach the door, knocking, with her ear against the wood, listening. A second later she opens the door. “Mr. Jones.”  
  
  
_“Amelia! My favorite nurse!”_ Betty can hear the smile on his voice as the nurse enters, closing the door behind her. She sits on one of the waiting chairs, looking down at her feet. Her attention drifts off for a moment, until she hears the door opening again.  
  
  
“Come on in, sweetie. He's decent.” The nurse, Amelia, says with a small smile on her face.  
  
  
It's the first time Betty sees Jughead in the light of day, and it feels like she's finally really seeing him. His dark curls contrast even more with his skin, it’s paler then she'd realized, and his eyes. Before she hadn't been able to tell if they were green or blue, but now she knows they're soft blue, and the sunlight coming from the window seems to highlight them.  
  
  
“Hi, Juggie.”  
  
  
“You're a sight for sore eyes, Betts.” He says with a smart grin, and she smiles back.  
  
  
Lost in looking at each other, they both miss the nurse looking between them, until she clears her throat. “I'm gonna get some coffee.”  
  
  
The second she steps out, Jughead speaks again. “How are you here?”  
  
  
She shrugs. “I was taking a walk, and thought of stopping by.” He smiles.  
  
  
“You can sit if you want.” Jughead points at the chair by his bed, hoping that her sitting means she'll stay for a while. As she sits, he watches her, taking her in. “It's nice seeing you in the light of day.” Betty cant help but smile at that, suddenly feeling a bit shy. Looking around, she notices the book on his bedside table.  
  
  
“Are you reading _Beloved_?” She asks surprised.  
  
  
“Well, your review was quite good.” He replies laughing a little at her reaction.  
  
  
They talk some more, about books, until some minutes later, Amelia re-enters the room, a silver bag in her hands, and for a second, Betty sees something changing in Jughead’s eyes, but just as it appears, it’s gone, replaced by his usual carefree smile.  
  
  
“Are you going to be my nurse for the day, Amelia?” His voice has a teasing tone, and the older woman laughs, shaking her head.  
  
  
“I’m only escorting Miss Cooper here, but then I thought, why not spend a moment with one of my favorite patients?” She pauses, hanging the bag on the IV pole by his bed. “Come on. Show those abs of yours.” Before Betty can even think about being uncomfortable, Jughead is taking his t-shirt off.  
  
  
On the top of his chest just under his collarbone, a white bandage is covering a bump, from where a line with a yellow plastic end is hanging. The nurse starts doing her work, connecting the silver bag to the line on his chest. “I used to be your only favorite, Amelia.” He speaks as she works, setting the bag and the dosages on the white and blue machine in the middle of the pole. “I can’t believe I’ve been replaced.” He says in mock hurt, and Betty watches as the nurse laughs again.  
  
  
“Miss Cooper is a wonderful patient, Mr. Jones. And she doesn’t give me half the trouble you did.” Upon being dragged into their conversation, Betty suddenly feels a bit shy, not really used with this kind of playful behavior, especially in what is such a serious moment.  
  
  
“Good thing she will be leaving soon, and then I can have you all to myself. In the meantime, though, I would really like to spend another moment with her, Amelia.” Betty looks up, stunned by his words. “I’m on my own for the day.” He adds, putting on his best face and puppy eyes.  
  
  
“ _Ah. Ah._ Those don’t work on me, Mr. Jones.” Turning to Betty, she continues. “You can stay if you want. I’ll come back when it’s time for your session.”  
  
  
“Yes, I’d like to stay. Thank you.” The nurse nods, looking between the two of them one more time before leaving.  
  
  
“Thanks for staying.” He says as the door closes. “This…you…you just made my day, Betts.”  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this from my phone, so I apologize if the format looks weird.


	3. like the sun on the horizon coming into view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> So, I'm terribly sorry for taking almost 4 months to update this. Between dealing with personal stuff, university things and some hateful anons, I kinda lost my motivation a bit. Now, however, I'm officially back! 
> 
> I want to especially thank Cyd, my awesome beta for helping me with this, and @leandraderaven for all the support she's given this fic since day one - this update is for you, girl.

* * *

After Betty leaves, Jughead keeps thinking about her. She's so smart and beautiful, and he wonders what could have made her sad and disappointed enough to want to end her life.

 

He reaches for his computer, trying to not disturb the line connected to his chest, hoping that what he's about to do doesn't make him too much of a stalker. Once online, he starts with Facebook. Ignoring the many notifications, he types Betty Cooper on the search bar, silently thanking Amelia for saying her last name out loud this morning. 

 

She's the first one to appear on the results list because there aren't many _ Betty Cooper _ s around in upstate New York. She looks pretty on her profile photo, hair in a ponytail, a light blue dress contrasting with a darker blue cardigan, but there's something different about her smile. He can't quite put his finger on it, so he looks at her profile. The last post was over a year ago. Some generic and overshared post about the excess of plastic in our oceans. In fact, most of the posts are the same. Different themes, always something serious and important, but nothing personal. 

 

Feeling a bit more stalkerish, he checks her photos. There’s a photo of her and her family, and from her clothes, he assumes it was taken on the same day as her profile picture. 

 

It doesn’t surprise him when he finds out from an older photo that Betty attends a private Catholic school. What does surprises him, is a photo of her in a cheerleading uniform, and it makes him wonder again, what could have happened to her? There are only four other photos, and after a second he realizes what they all seem to have in common. It’s the same distinctive thing in her smile, in her entire expression really. She looks like someone else, a different girl than the one he saw every night on the roof, different from the girl who had just sat beside him. She had smiled while talking about  _ Beloved _ but the photos are a clear contrast from reality. Her smile on the photos is stiff and even a little forced. Betty seems happy, but the spark in her eyes is dim...haunted. 

 

Deciding against sending her a friend request, it’s better to wait a little longer before she learns he searched for her online, Jughead does something he hasn’t done in a while. He opens a document, and writes down what he knows about Betty Cooper so far, the girl that had been the moon shining on his usual dark nights. 

 

\--

 

“Amelia told me you went on a walk today,” Doctor Glass starts, smiling as Betty nods. “That’s great, Betty. Even though we don’t have the most exciting view inside, walking around is good for you.” 

 

For a second, Betty wonders if Amelia told her about Jughead. “It is.” She replies, not offering more.

 

Glass looks down on her notes for a moment before continuing. 

 

“I’d like to talk to you about a couple of things today, Betty.” As she nods again, the doctor continues. “First of all, you'll no longer be taking Adderall, it will interfere with the medication I'm going to prescribe you. The new pills are called Zoloft, they will help you feel better, your mood and sleep should improve, and you will have more energy throughout the day. Along with that, I spoke with your parents about you coming to see me at least three times a week for the next month, so we can keep talking. Is that okay with you? You can always tell me if you disagree with anything I say.”

 

Seeing Doctor Glass didn’t sound too bad. And the prospect of being on medication was nothing new to Betty. 

 

“I think that's okay.” Glass smiled again.

 

“Good. Another thing. There's a group, here at the hospital, a support group for teenagers who went through rough experiences. Some are similar to yours, others are completely different, but I do think it would be good for you. It can help to talk with people who understand from personal experience, you know?” 

 

“I don't know if I can do that.” She immediately says, her mind already picturing a room, with strange people sitting around and staring at her, waiting for her to say something.

 

“I imagine it sounds like a lot, but would you consider just giving it a chance, Betty? There's no pressure. You could go to one of their reunions, and just sit and watch. See how it is before making a decision.” She pauses, clicking her pen. “You're going home soon, the support group would be an excellent opportunity for you to feel less alone.” 

 

“What?” Betty asks her interest finally piqued. “I'm going home? When?” 

 

“Friday.” Glass says with a smile. “I want you to start the Zoloft today, so we can see how you react to it the next three days or so, and if everything goes well, there's no reason why you need to stay any longer.” 

 

For some unknown reason, those words make something tighten in her chest, leaving her worried and anxious for the rest of the day.

 

\--

 

She’s pacing on the rooftop when Jughead arrives. “Evening, Betts.” He says in his signature smirky voice. “Are you okay?” Betty turns to him, biting a fingernail as she nods. 

 

“Yeah.” She makes a long pause before speaking again. “Doctor Glass told me I'll be discharged on Friday.” She tells him while looking down at her bandaged wrists.

 

“Betts, that’s great!”

 

“Is it?” She shakes her head again, her mind swirling. 

 

“Of course it is! Imagine, no more hospital food. No more stiff mattress, or...noisy nurses.” The way he speaks, eases the mess inside her head, if only a little bit, but she realizes that even though going home doesn't seem easy, she's lucky. At least she gets to leave this place. Jughead doesn’t. He isn't that lucky. He had told her he would be here for a while this time. “I'm going to miss our nightly talks, though.” He adds while lightening up a cigarette.

 

Betty will miss it, too. For a second, she even struggles to remember what her nights were like before him. 

 

“Well, I’ll have to come back, to see Doctor Glass and to go to this support group thing she told me about.” He doesn't miss the sour way she says  _ support group.  _ “I can visit you whenever I'm here. And I'll bring you some threats while I'm at it.” He smiles at that. 

 

“That would be amazing, Betts.” She smiles, taking a deep breath and relishing on the feeling of the fresh night air. “The support group isn't that bad, you know?” He continues after a moment. “I speak from personal experience.” 

 

“Really?” She sounds a bit doubtful. 

 

“Yeah, really. I've been going there every now and then for the past couple of years. Most people are a bit reluctant at first, because of how they imagine the whole thing, but once you're there, it's different. I could go with you the first time if you want. Maybe a familiar face can make you feel more at ease?” 

 

“You would do that?” Her eyes shining with surprise.

 

“Sure. I'm overdue for a visit there anyway.” They are quiet for some time. Betty finds herself following the smoke in the air, distracted until he breaks the silence. “Could we maybe exchange phone numbers? I mean…I would like to keep talking to you when I come up here.”

 

For a second, Betty feels sad for him, alone in this rooftop every night. He had been doing this for a while before she appeared, but she knows how it feels to be alone, then have someone only to find yourself alone again down the road. It was awful. “Of course. I would really like to keep talking.” 

 

He smiles, raising his head to exhale the smoke. “Oh. The stars are beautiful tonight.” Jughead exclaims. 

 

Betty looks up, too. The dark sky is completely clear, the stars shining brighter than she’d seen in as long as she could remember. She realizes it's been quite some time since she’d looked up to stargaze, and a scary thought crosses her mind, making her shiver. 

 

“Are you cold, Betts?” She looks at him, offering a small smile. 

 

“No…I...I was just thinking,” he waits for her to elaborate, “I was thinking that I never added stargazing to my to-do list. How...how sad would it be to die...without looking at the stars one last time?” 

 

Jughead watches her face. She has her head tilted back, her eyes still on the shining points above and a part of him makes a note about how beautiful she looks while the rest of his attention focuses on her words. 

 

“Betts? Do you...do you still think about dying?”

 

She looks at him, face blank. Yet again, his out of the blue question leaves her completely at a loss.  _ Did she? Did she still think about dying? _

 

“I...I don't know.” And she really didn't. “I think about what I did constantly. And…I guess I thought about it when I woke up. But now? I don't know. At the same time my head tells me that this is a second chance, I feel lost.”

 

“Why do you feel lost?” He asks gently. 

 

“I feel lost because I don't know what to do now. I...I wasn't supposed to be here. I was supposed to be...dead. And now… what am I going to do now? I don't know where to go from here or what's going to happen in the future. Or-or now. What comes next? I'm just  _ lost _ . I'm so lost, Juggie.” When she finally looks at him, there are no tears in her eyes, but her expression is completely hopeless and disoriented.   
  
“You don't need to figure out the future right now. You can live one day at the time. And it's okay if there are days when you don't know where to go next. Figuring it out as you go is one of the best parts of life, Betts.” 

 

“How come you always seem to know the right things to say?” Her question brings a smile to his face and he laughs.

 

“I've told you before. I have a lot of free time in my hands.”

 

\--

 

When Betty gets home that Friday, the smell of roses from her mother's favorite house fragrance assaults her nose. The house is pristine clean, shining almost. Not that she expected anything less from her mother, but still…it's was…somewhat weird to walk in, after everything. 

 

“Your room is ready for you, honey, if you want to rest.” 

 

She goes to her room, trying to not be bothered by the fact that her mother has left the door wide open. Betty sits on her bed, for almost an hour, fidgeting with the hospital bracelet still on her bandage wrist, her mind empty, but swirling with thoughts at the same time. 

 

Suddenly, her phone rang, bringing her back from her head. 

 

“Hello?”

 

_ “Betts.”  _ Jughead's voice is like sunlight on a rainy day. “ _ Hope it's not too soon to be calling you.”  _

 

“Not at all, Juggie.” It's good to hear his voice, but she refrains from telling him that, not knowing what he would think about it. 

 

_ “You settled already? How's being back at home?”  _ She considers his question for a moment.

 

“Honestly? It's weird.” 

 

_ “Oh, trust me. I know the feeling. The first time I went back home after a long stay…”  _

 

Betty and Jughead spoke until he had to hang up because his parents had arrived. She wasn't surprised at all to see they had been on the phone for nearly two hours. Talking to him felt so…natural. Jughead was the first genuine person she knew, someone who spoke his mind without being judgemental or rude, and after everything, someone like him was… refreshing.

 

His call gave her the boost she needed to get out of bed and move to her desk where she turned on her computer and started researching some of the points on his list. Jughead had asked for her help, and that was what she was going to do. Help him. 

  
  


It's only on Sunday night that she finishes up planning the fifth point on his list.  _ Ferris wheel.  _ Betty had chosen it, because it seemed simple enough, but as it turned out, it wasn't. Carnivals were more popular in the summer months, which meant most of them would only open again next year. After some digging, she discovered a carnival four towns over in Seaside. Luckily, they'd be there until the end of that week. 

 

After dinner, Betty waited for her parents to turn in, before calling Jughead. 

 

_ “Hi, Betts.”  _ He said, answering on the third ring.  _ “I was just thinking about you.”  _

 

By the sound of his voice and the wind behind it, she could tell he was on the rooftop. 

 

“I've got a couple of questions for you, Juggie.”

 

_ “Ask away.”  _

 

“It's about the second item on your list. Parachuting.” Before she can continue, he starts laughing on his end. A laugh that reminds her the way kids laugh when they'd been busted doing something wrong.

 

_ “You don't need to worry about that, Betts.”  _ He tells her after a moment.  _ “I added that because, to be honest, I didn't know what to write down at first. After some research parachuting sounded like the kind of thing that should be on a  _ before dying _ list.”  _ She laughs at his explanation, picturing him on the roof, laughing and looking carefree even if just for a moment.

 

“That actually makes a lot of sense.” 

 

_ “I always make sense, Betty Cooper.”  _ He jokes smugly.  _ “Now. What's your other question?” _

 

“On a scale of one to ten how rebellious are you?” There was a moment of silence on the other side before he replied.

 

_ “I'd say a solid 8. Borderline 9. Why?” _

 

It didn't surprise her that after explaining what she had in mind he immediately agreed to it. It took three days to have everything settled, but the wait turned out to be convenient: Wednesday was group therapy day, which gave her a reason to leave the house without much explanation being needed. 

 

As arranged, she checked in for the group support, going instead straight to his room. He was grinning from ear to ear when she entered the room, closing the door behind her. 

 

“I can't believe we're actually doing this.” Jughead said in a hushed but excited tone.

 

“Me neither.” She confessed. In all her life, Betty had never been one to break rules. This was all new for her. 

 

Jughead stared at her again for a second. “You're a sight for sore eyes, Betts.” She was about to reply when a knock sounded on the door. “That would be our ride.” He said checking his phone. The door pushed open, and a tall, monstrously tall guy, with jet black hair and a strong face. He was large and his presence seemed to fill the room. 

 

“Mrs. G. is gonna kill me, Jones.” Jughead shook his head. 

 

“Nah. She likes you too much.” They both laughed before bro hugging each other. 

 

“It's good to see you, man.” Tall guy says. 

 

“You, too.” Jughead replies. “Sweet Pea, this is Betty Cooper.” He paused pointing at where she was still standing near the window. “Betts, this is Sweet Pea, one of my best friends.”

 

“One of your best friends? I'm more like the older brother he never had.” Sweet Pea corrected. “Nice to meet you.” She waited for him to offer his hand on a shake, and for all the awkwardness that would surely follow, but none of it came, and she relaxes.

 

“You, too.” 

 

“How are we gonna do this, Jones? I assume you have a plan.”

  
  


The plan is simple enough. Get out as if nothing was happening. Sweet Pea doubts it will work until it does and the three of them end up laughing inside the car, still feeling that thrill of doing something wrong.

 

Jughead doesn't miss how Betty seems excited and worried at the same time about the whole thing, and from the rearview mirror he sees a far off look on her face. 

 

“You okay, Betts?” She gives him a small smile. 

 

“I'm just thinking about how crazy what we're doing is.”

 

Her words make his best friend laugh, shaking his head. “You think this is crazy? You've got no idea the amount of shit we did back in the day. We've been at it since what, Jug? First grade?”

 

“First grade? Try Kindergarten. Our parents got called every week for some shenanigan or another.”

  
  


He spends the next hour telling Betty all about their mischief, only stopping when Sweet Pea speaks. “Heads up, guys.” 

 

From the road, they can see Seaside Fair, down the cliff and close to the beach. It's a lovely view, and Betty feels a warmth in her heart upon seeing the big smile on Jughead's face. As they keep driving, she takes his list from her pocket, crossing  _ Ferris Wheel.  _ One down, eight to go, she says to herself. 

  
  


She wasn't planning on going. This was for him. Somehow, Jughead convinces her to tag along, using some excuse about the seats being made for two. That and the fact that apparently, giant leather Sweet Pea is afraid of heights.

 

Betty sits by his side, the ferris wheel moving slowly as it gradually circles up, to fill all the seats. The ground starts to get away from them, and everything starts to become smaller. 

 

Jughead has the biggest smile on his face she's ever seen. He looks untroubled.  _ Happy _ . As they get to the top, the wheel stops, and she notices how high they are. Betty's hearts starts beating faster, but oh. The view is breathtaking and it overwhelms her for a second. 

 

She can see the entire fair, the sand and the sea seem to be closer, and it's…beautiful. 

 

Jughead is looking at her, smiling at the look of her face. “That right there,” He says pointing at her face. “It’s exactly how I felt when I first came to one of these.”

 

“It's incredible.” 

 

They're quiet, enjoying the ride, the breeze and the salty smell of the sea. 

 

“Do you think we'll have time to watch the sunset?” He says, with his eyes closed and his head leaned back. “The sunsets here are…incredible. Totally things to see before dying material.”

 

Betty can sense the hopelessness in his voice, and, for a reason she doesn't really understand, it saddens her deeply.

 

"You shouldn't lose hope." Her words make him open his eyes, head up, and a question appears on his face. "In getting better, I mean. Something could still happen."    
  
Jughead feels her words in his heart and a small voice in his head tells him that this is wrong. From all people, Betty shouldn't be telling him to stay hopeful. She's supposed to help him accept that his time has come. Unsure of how to answer that, he does what he does best, at least according to his mother. He deflects.    
  
"I could tell you the same thing, Betts."   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
"You shouldn't lose hope in living. Maybe what made you give up wasn't life itself. Maybe it was the way you were living it. Like they say, if you don't like something, change it."    
  
"I think that's for hairstyles or wall colours. Don't like it, change it. I don't think that could work for life." She says shaking her head a little.    
  
"It could work." He replies with a shrug. "Have you tried it?"   
  
Before she can reply, Sweet Pea yells a few feet down.   
  
"Jones! Your mother just called. It's important."    
  
It's a wake up call from the dream the day has been so far.    
  


The wheel comes to a stop a few minutes later, and they walk down to where his friend is. 

  
Betty watches as Jughead runs a hand over his face, turning to her. "Let's see if I can't still talk my way out of trouble." He's smiling but it doesn't reach his eyes. She knows, though, that if she says anything, the dream will be over even sooner, and she feels like holding on just a little longer.    
  
"With all your experience, I'm sure you're still an expert."    
  
They leave the fair, and Sweet Pea shoves a phone on Jughead's hand. "Talk to her."   
  
He rolls his eyes, taking the phone. "I'll meet you guys in the car." With that he walks towards the beach.    
  


 

Jughead takes a deep breath, before dialing the number and putting the phone on his ear. 

 

“Hi Mom.”

 

_ “Hi Mom?”  _ Gladys Jones replies sounding just as pissed as he imagined she would.  _ “Really? That's what you're going to say after running away from the hospital? Jesus Christ, Forsythe! You cannot do this! Do you have any idea how worried your father and I were?”  _

 

“Actually, I didn't run away. I checked myself out temporarily.” His mother sighed and he could see her pinching her nose, like she always did when angry with him. 

 

_ “Don't try and play funny, Jughead. Just get your ass back here. The doctor has something important to tell us.”  _   
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Don't forget, feedback is very important, so drop a kudos, comment... Whatever. It'll be great to hear what you think!  
> You can also find me at Tumblr (@itsmarscosta)


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